Consciousness returned to Barek not with a gasp of air, but with the heavy, suffocating sensation of drowning in warmth.
He was suspended in a Bio-Sanguine Vat, a towering cylindrical chamber of reinforced glass filled with a viscous, amber-red fluid. This was the pinnacle of the village's medical technology, standard issue across all clan castles but maintained meticulously by the central Research & Development division. The fluid was a potent, swirling alchemical mixture of high-grade blood, crushed healing herbs harvested under the light of the Draveth moon, and liquified beast cores, designed to reconstruct muscle fiber and replenish spirit energy at an unnaturally accelerated rate.
Barek floated weightlessly, a specimen in a jar. Tubes of translucent organic material were attached to his chest, arms, and temples, pulsing rhythmically like living veins as they cycled the nutrient-rich fluid through his ravaged system.
Through the distorted, thick glass, he saw movement. Not the massive, dark shapes of his kin, but slender, ethereal figures drifting like smoke.
The fluid drained with a heavy hiss, spiraling down into the floor grates. The glass cylinder slid open with a hydraulic sigh, releasing a cloud of sweet, metallic-smelling steam into the cold room. Barek stumbled out, his legs feeling foreign beneath him. He coughed, his lungs burning as the stark air hit his steam-slicked skin.
"Easy, Noble Barek. Your vitals are barely stabilized."
The voice was melodic, soft, and utterly lacking the guttural depth of the Ironkong clan. Barek wiped the slime from his eyes and looked at his caretakers.
They were Pale Sentinels, a specialized subclass of vampires loyal only to the King and the R&D division. Unlike the towering warriors of the clans, they were slight of build, with skin so pale it was nearly translucent, revealing a map of faint blue veins beneath. They had no hair, their heads smooth and gleaming like polished pearls, and their eyes were solid orbs of milky white, devoid of pupils or irises.
"Man… that stuff tastes nasty," Barek grumbled, shaking his head like a wet dog, sending droplets of red fluid splattering across the pristine floor. He flexed his hand, watching the tendons move. The pain was gone. In fact, his arm felt… denser. Heavier, but not in a way that dragged him down. It felt charged.
'Wait,' he thought, clenching his fist. The air seemed to pop in his grip. 'Did I just get… stronger?'
"It is not for consumption," one Sentinel said impassively, ignoring his question as they detached a tube from his neck with clinical precision. "You shattered forty percent of your skeletal structure. You should be dead."
"Yeah, well, I get that a lot."
"Indeed," a deep, rolling voice rumbled from the doorway.
The Sentinels bowed silently and drifted back into the shadows as Gondor stepped in. The Ironkong Leader filled the doorway, his massive frame draped in ceremonial robes that struggled to contain his bulk. His mala beads clicked softly against each other, a rhythmic counterpoint to his heavy steps.
He stopped in front of Barek, his eyes narrowed, scanning the boy with a predator's scrutiny.
"You been out for three full rotations," Gondor stated, his voice gravelly. "Velunn, Draveth, and Al'Dhor done circled the sky three times while you floated in that tank. Most men don't wake up from the backlash you took, boy."
Barek grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Gondor stepped closer, his presence overwhelming and towering over Barek. He looked Barek up and down, sensing the subtle shift in the boy's aura. It was denser now. Purer.
"You done tapped into it," Gondor murmured, his voice dropping to a reverent rumble. "The Original Ironkong Blood Art"
Barek frowned, confused. "The what?"
"The Original Ironkong Blood Art," Gondor explained, his tone heavy. "Ain't no surprise you know nun 'bout it, not everyone does. History says the First of our kind—the strongest Original to ever walk this dirt—refused the crown. Even though he was the baddest thing walkin', cos he ain't had no interest in being king. He was said to draw one hundred percent of power from his blood. Absolute kinetic dominance."
Gondor grabbed Barek's arm, his grip like a vice. "He bet he could teach his descendants, but it was too much. It tore 'em apart. They bodies couldn't handle the output. So he improvised and created the Reverse Blood Arts—a limiter. We draw ninety-five percent max. It was much safer and even at ninety-five, we dominated this village in terms of strength and resilience. So no one really felt the need to bother with the Original Blood Arts no mo, hence the missing history lesson."
He leaned in, his face inches from Barek's. "Yet somehow, you done pulled off a hundred percent. And better yet, you survived."
"Oh yeah?" Barek's grin returned, sharper this time. "That's what it was, huh? It felt real good."
"Three seconds," Gondor countered sharply, his voice cracking like a whip. "That's your limit, boy. Three seconds and you out. You push it too much, and you come back here, possibly dying. You feel me?"
Barek nodded, sensing the seriousness. "Three seconds. Got it."
Gondor sighed, releasing him. "I had the archives run a check on you. Checked into the academy as a Halfling, claimed Outer Circle origin. Yet no family history. Not even your parents. I'm gonna be keeping ma eyes on you. boy"
He turned to leave. "Get dressed. And join your colleagues. It's time."
The Hall of Iron
The Induction Ceremony was held in the central plaza of the castle, a vast courtyard paved with massive iron slabs that had withstood eons of stomping boots. The air was thick, intimidating with the scent of burning torches and the silent, heavy anticipation of hundreds of vampires.
The nobles who took the test stood in disciplined rows. Thanks to the advanced healing vats, they stood in peak form. Chests puffed out, adorned in crisp black military uniforms. A single crimson stripe—a claw mark—slashed across their right shoulder, marking them as Novice Nobles, the newest additions to the clan's military.
But all eyes were on the raised platform.
Gondor stood at the podium, flanked by the Clan Elders—ancient figures draped in heavy, ornate robes who watched the proceedings with eyes that had seemed to have witnessed a lot in their lifetime. To his right stood the Vampire Knights, the terrifying military elite of the clan.
Among the ranks of the knights stood the female Ironkong warriors. They were towering, Amazonian figures with wild, elegant hair braided with bones and gold. Some wore sleek, segmented armor that accentuated their agility and strength, with massive double-axes strapped to their backs. Others wore lighter gear, their knuckles wrapped in black iron bands, clearly favoring the brutal intimacy of bare-handed combat. They stood just as tall and fierce as the men, radiating a lethal grace that demanded respect.
Leading the military formation was High Commander Rorg. He was a mountain of a vampire, ancient but in prime physical condition. His white beard was braided with heavy gold rings that clinked softly when he moved. His presence radiated an aura of crushing gravity, a living testament to the clan's endurance.
And standing in front of one of the specific knight factions was Commander Zorr.
Zorr was a Vampire Lord, fully evolved and terrifying. He was a nightmare made flesh—his skin the color of charcoal, scarred white in a hundred places from centuries of brutal combat. He wore his scars like trophies, a testament to a body that refused to break.
"Today," Gondor's voice boomed across the plaza, echoing off the iron walls. "Our outer-circle nobles unlock the true potential of our clan's blood."
He called the first name. A young noble stepped forward, trembling slightly with excitement, and knelt before Gondor.
Gondor raised his arm, and a Vampire Knight stepped forward holding a large, ceremonial bowl carved from obsidian. Inside sat jagged, glowing orbs—Blood orbs, concentrated essence of the clan's power.
"Consume," Gondor commanded.
The noble took a crystal and swallowed it whole.
Seconds passed. Then, the noble gasped. His back arched violently as a massive surge of energy built up within him, forcing him down onto one knee. Red veins surged up his neck, pulsing wildly, until they reached his eyes, which glowed with a sudden, fierce crimson light. The energy settled, locking into his core.
"Rise, Ironkong," Gondor commanded, his voice deep and proud. "Now the name Ironkong is issued onto you. Carry it with pride, and do your best to serve your clan."
One by one, the ritual continued. The air hummed with the collective energy of the awakened nobles. Until the list was done, and the silence stretched.
"However," Gondor paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "One among you has displayed power that defies the rank of Noble. His stats exceed our records. With the most Flesh-born kills we ever tracked in this clan, this particular noble then went against 4 Night-marrows and defeated em. Then when the time came and the unforeseen happened, he blew away the top half of a landmauler, a blood-wrought beast with a single punch. That another feat that aint happened before in our records either."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Eyes darted around. They already knew who Gondor was speaking of. They have all heard of him now.
"Barek!" Gondor shouted. The place went quiet. Then–
Barek stepped out from the shadows of the archway. He wore the black military fatigues of the Ironkong, but his shoulder bore no rank stripe yet. He walked with that same easy, rolling gait, unbothered by the hundreds of eyes drilling into him. "It's him again ain't it? The dude from the grand tourney". One noble whispered to another standing by him. "Shush man, you tryna get us yelled at ? But yeah, yeah it is him". He responded. "Whoa! Look at him go, the confidence man, it's like—" "Dude I thought you aint wanna get yelled at, can it will ya" The vampire who asked the question before cut off the other one from saying anymore. His face turned red and looked away embarrassed. "Jerk!" He said, looking back at Barek with eyes of admiration.
"Step forward," Gondor commanded. He pointed past the rows of nobles, directly to the formation of the Knights.
"Barek Ironkong. By the order of the Elders, you are hereby stripped of Noble candidacy."
Gasps echoed through the plaza. Murmurs of confusion erupted. Stripped? Was he being expelled?
Barek just raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable.
"And you are immediately promoted to Knight Trainee. You will undergo training as a knight under commander Zorr".
"Knight!? Ain't he still just a vampire noble like us?" one noble murmured. "Yeah right, "Just like us" ". Another responded sarcastically.
The crowd erupted. It was unheard of. Skipping the Noble service entirely? To go straight to the Knights was a feat reserved for legends, which none has achieved yet in their history.
"Just who is this guy anyway?" One of the vampire knights muttered as he looked at Barek. Bronx didn't say a word as he just kept an eye on Barek and the proceedings.
"Now," Gondor continued, his voice cutting through the noise. "Turns out Barek already done awakened an ability within him despite being an outer-circle vampire-noble. So he won't be needin' no awakening ritual."
Barek walked up the steps, bypassing the nobles. Skarrin was there in the knight formation, grinning like a maniac. Bronx looked at him with a mix of fear and awe. Tag just shook his head, smiling in disbelief.
Barek stopped in front of Commander Zorr.
The Commander looked down at him, his single good eye narrowing. The other was a mass of scar tissue, sealed shut—a wound he refused to cover or replace. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and rough.
"So," Zorr rasped. "You're the boy who's got everyone wildin huh?!."
Zorr crossed his massive, scarred arms, looking unimpressed.
"Better not let the attention get to you" Zorr growled, leaning in close. "Under my watch, special just means I get to enjoy breaking you, feel me?" His aura exploded slightly. It was intense and Barek noticed it and he felt a crush on his shoulders like he was being shoved into the ground by some invisible force.
Barek stood his ground and looked up at Zorr's scarred face. He didn't flinch. A slow, wild grin spread across his lips.
"I ain't even thought about it, boss."
Zorr snorted, a sound like shifting gravel. "Get in line, Knight Barek."
Barek stepped into the formation, right beside Bronx.
"Same rank as me already, huh?" Bronx whispered, bumping his shoulder hard. "Now I get to see what you actually made of up close, lil' man."
Barek smiled, his eyes fixed forward on the ceremony. "Trust me, the whole world gon see"